Traded for Love (23 page)

It was my guess that she'd learned how to fake it, because by the time I got to know her, she'd mastered that sweet smile. And I'd fallen for it. I'd believed in the mask.

She couldn't be the person I needed. The case was the same with me for her. Knowing that truth didn't make it any easier to reduce my emotional attachment to her. And even though I'd initially wanted to blame her for my suffering, I couldn't.

As I pulled into the driveway, I reminded myself that it wasn't her fault. She was a pebble turned unevenly by the sea of life, a creature of an entirely different shape than most.

I bounded up the front walk to the two-story Victorian-style house and unlocked the door.

She was in the living room, stretched out on the leather couch in front of the television. Law and Order blared out through the sound system, the muzzle flashes from detective Benson's gun lit up her eyes, which were just barely visible over the brim of her snuggie.

“Hey. You're out of bed.” I brought in the box of donuts.

She smiled after sniffing the air. “Are those my favorite chocolate cake donuts?”

“They are.” I walked down the hall into the kitchen. It was clean, despite the fact that I'd left it a mess after cooking dinner last night. “Did you clean?”

“A little.”

“You must be feeling better.”

“What?!” she called out from the living room.

“Nothing.” I checked the fridge. No leftovers. “Did you eat today?” I shouted over my shoulder.

“I had some toast a little bit ago!”

“How long ago?”

“Noon! … Dad!”

I rolled my eyes. “Don't you want something substantial?”

When I heard her walking down the hall, I shut the fridge.

“What are you going to make?” she asked, taking a seat at the bar, still wrapped in her snuggie.

I leaned on the counter. “I have a lasagna in the freezer.” She scoffed. “Meatball sandwiches?” She repeated the face. “Breakfast for dinner?”

She smiled. “Sounds good.”

I took out the eggs, bacon, cheese, jelly, and butter.

As I fried up the savory parts, I popped some English muffins into the toaster oven.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, not looking up from the eggs bubbling in the pan.

“Fine. I should be back in tomorrow.”

I pursed my lips. “Are you sure? You can easily take off another week.”

“No, I'm fine.”

She'd been anything but fine after Doe had finished with her. Due to his apathy when it came to aftercare, she'd developed cold symptoms, and had been in bed for a week.

I'd experienced a monumental amount of guilt. I could have, and should have, advised her against going with a guy that had rubbed me wrong, and obviously treated his slave like an object instead of a partner. I might have used the excuse that his humiliation of her was part of their session when I first met him and Julia, but I'd witnessed his subsequent bad behavior, and should have called him out on it.

Part of a Master's responsibility was to ensure his slave's safety. And even though the ultimate decision was Chastity's to make, I'd failed to protect her from seeing him again after he'd proven to be awful.

“You're burning the eggs,” she complained.

I snapped back to reality and turned over the crispy egg. “Sorry. I'll eat that one.” Behind me, I heard her sniff and shift a little in the silence. “Something bothering you?”

“I was wondering whether he … ” She trailed off, but I could easily guess what the lost end of that statement was.

“No,” I lied. “He didn't come back. He must have gotten what he wanted out of you that night. I have a feeling he won't be coming back ever again.” I scooped my over-hard egg onto a plate and began cooking hers.

“You're such a bad liar.”

I could hear her smile.

“Is it such a stretch to believe me? He was an asshole, a stupid one at that.” My stomach growled as I finished her sunny-side up egg with a dash of pepper.

She snickered. “You're right.”

I turned around with the loaded-up plates, and served her. She stared at her food, looking neither happy nor sad.

“Did you want him to come back?” I slathered my English muffin in strawberry jelly, eyeing her quizzically.

“Sort of.”

“I'm surprised, considering what he did to you.”

“It was just as much my fault as his. I let things get too far.” She toyed with her sausage links.

“He didn't know what he was doing. I hope I never see the bastard again.” I went to the fridge for orange juice and returned with the carton and two glasses.

“I think he just needs to learn how to handle a sub properly.”

“Well, I'd prefer it if you weren't the one to teach him.”

“It'd be fun,” she remarked with a smirk.

“Getting sick isn't fun. If you're asking me, I'm saying no.”

She brought her eyes up to mine. “I'm not asking.”

“I see.” I frowned and tried to swallow more of my dinner. “I don't like him, but I'd put up with him for your sake; if that's what you want.”

“I do.”

“I'd like to supervise,” I said. “Just until—”

“No.” She took her first bite of her rapidly cooling food.

“I'll worry.”

“Don't.”

“Easy for you to say,” I pointed out. “You're not the one watching the person you love go off with a jerk who's mistreated her.”

Her hand froze. She stared daggers at me. “You used the word again.”

I sat back and wiped my lips with a napkin. “Relax. You know it doesn't mean the same thing it used to.”

“Are you sure?” She set down her fork. “I want to see him again. I'd like you to let him come back to the club. I'd like him to dominate me again, but not until you've spoken to him.”

“That's going to be a little difficult.”

“Why?”

“Because the last time I saw him, I laid him out.”

She grinned. “Did you? Really?”

I grinned back. “I punched him right in the face.”

She picked her fork up and resumed eating. “He'll get much worse before I'm done with him.”

I quirked a brow. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing.” She smiled at me. “Nothing at all.”

(Jack)

I scrolled through a thousandth article about D/s relationships. The words turned blurry as eye-strain took over. I rubbed my closed eyelids, then checked the clock.

“Jesus,” I whispered.

Like I had every single night for the past week, I'd spent hours upon hours posting and searching websites to learn more about being a Dom. I'd never known how seriously people treated it. I'd never seen it as a job, but everything I read indicated it was a big responsibility.

It hadn't been easy to begin my search. My pride had been wounded by Drake, but I'd be damned if I was about to lose to him.

Not seeing Chastity again simply wasn't an option. I had to see her. It was vital to my happiness and my sanity. Since the last time I'd seen her, she'd been the only thing on my mind. The memory of her naked body, her smell, her voice, all of it haunted me.

On more than one occasion, I'd used those vivid images to bring myself to edge. The only problem was, I'd get there and not be able to finish. For some reason it felt wasted if she wasn't there. It meant nothing if I couldn't use her.

The web had been an informative and impartial teacher. Its denizens didn't judge, and if they did, ignoring them was just a matter of clicking a button.

I spent most of my work hours learning things I didn't know before. A lot of it seemed unnecessary to me, but then again, the way I'd done things before had gotten my sub sick.

Closing my laptop for the night, I still wasn't sure I trusted myself to do it right yet, but I realized I had no way to test my skills.

Julia had more or less vanished, and I wasn't about to go looking for her.

Finding a new slave at this point, and on short notice, didn't seem feasible.

I wandered down the hall to our bedroom. Emily stood at the mouth of the bathroom wearing a pretty satin camisole with matching shorts. She was running a brush through her wet hair. When she saw me, her eyes grew wide, and she quickly averted her gaze.

She crossed to the window, stood with her back to me and continued to groom.

In the previous few days, she'd been silent around me. She hadn't demanded any explanations or hounded me with a lot of female nonsense. I liked this Emily. This Emily reminded me of the one I'd met and first subjugated.

It'd been a while since she'd truly excited me, but her silence and her vulnerability enticed me to go over and set my hands on her shoulders.

Startled, she jumped. Her pulse quickened under my hands.

“You look beautiful,” I whispered in her ear.

She shuddered and sniffed. “Please leave me alone.”

Trust was one of the issues approached multiple times in the literature I'd browsed.

I knew that if I wanted her to obey again, I would have to re-establish our bond, and that meant giving her some of control back.

I slid my hands off her shoulders. “I won't touch you unless you let me,” I whispered. “I just wanted you to know I thought you looked nice.”

Her breath caught. It was obvious she was surprised.

I left her thinking and went into the bathroom for my own shower.

Under the hot water, I thought of Chastity, and how all of this was for her: the self-training, the buttering up of the wife I didn't love, the work I was about to do to make sure I never made her sick again. She was worth it.

(Emily)

You look beautiful
. The words made my chest ache. It was the first time in a long time he'd said those words. In my heart, I wanted to believe he meant it.

He'd stopped touching me when I asked him to. That was totally unlike Jack. He did whatever he wanted, took whatever he wanted, when he wanted it.

I could scarcely believe it. Just days ago he'd attempted to force himself on me. He'd done it in the past … and met with little resistance. I'd accepted his will, because I'd assumed it was my duty.

This time, though, his entire manner had been different.

I'd demanded to be left alone and he'd listened.

Was he turning over a new leaf? Did he really want to fix this? Why had he been so cold during our fight if his aim was to confess and move on with just me?

I considered that it might not have been easy for him to reveal what he'd done, and that it could have been painful for him just like it might have been for any other person.

Person
was the operative word. Jack was more like a beast. Could a creature like him even feel the pain of guilt?

Questions. They were all that was left over when I thought of him.

I lay in bed, listening to the shower run.

How was it possible that the moment he took his hands away, I wanted them back on me? He'd hurt me. He'd reduced my role in our marriage to that of a slave, yet all I wanted was for things to go back to how they'd been before the fight. No … earlier than that. I wanted things to go back to a time when we were happy.

I could see us being together and happy once more. Maybe if he promised not to do it again, I could forgive him. The question was whether I could rebuild my trust in him.

The shower turned off and he came out of the bathroom, a steam cloud rolling out after him.

I hadn't said much to him in the past week. I hadn't been ready. Now it seemed like it might be easier to try. But what was there to say?

Maybe the key wasn't to say, but to do.

He decided to come to bed naked, something he hadn't done in months. My carnal instincts were screaming. Besides being as handsome as ever, he smelled amazing, like cologne, deodorant and soap. The mixture of those freshly administered potions made resisting even more difficult.

The bed sunk as his weight settled down on it. Everything in me wanted to forget what had happened and pounce him.

I eased over to his side of the bed. “Are you awake?” I whispered.

“Yeah.”

Employing some of my dustier intimate techniques, I pressed myself against his back. “Are you tired?”

“A little.”

I softly kissed the defined ridge of his shoulder-blade. He rolled over, and his lips were so close, that I could feel his minty breath on my cheek. His eyes were half-lidded as he smiled. That serene, drowsy expression only increased his appeal. “Can't sleep?”

“Mm hm. I was thinking we could … ” I traced a finger over his collarbone.

He took my hand in his, usually such a forceful gesture, but this time the opposite. He pressed his lips to the back of my hand. “I want to, but I think we should be patient and take our time.”

I couldn't have been more shocked. Patient? Taking our time? Who was this guy and where was the man I married?

“You … don't want me?”

“Believe me, I do.” He guided my hand down his stomach. I gasped when my skin brushed his. He was hard as a rock. “We need to sort things out. I want things to be right between us. We'll start tomorrow. Until then, this will have to do.” He kissed my hand again, then threaded his fingers with mine. “Goodnight.”

It was enough to both charm and confuse me. There had never been a time since I'd known him that his satisfaction didn’t trump everything else. My heart leapt in my chest. Even though he'd turned me down for sex, in a way, it was exactly what I wanted.

I couldn't help but feel that this was the beginning of something good for us. Something new.